


Haikyuu!! Drabbles

by mickytaka558



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickytaka558/pseuds/mickytaka558
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ushijima/Oikawa - Loss (G)

Wakatoshi has never thought about losing before. Sure, there were a couple of times he lost on the international level, but he has never lost in Japan. Sure, never in the Prefecturals, not even in the Nationals...

And yet, today _Karasuno_ won.

Karasuno and that freak duo managed to make there way to him and they beat him. They were (still are, always will be) bothersome, and Wakatoshi kind of regrets not having given his best ever since the beginning of the game. Shiratorizawa should have taken that fourth set, without trying to spare Wakatoshi's strength. He should have given his best...

And now he is walking down the street, his team left behind at school. He remembers seeing Satori cry. He remembers hearing Kenjirō's apologies. And even though it happened only a few hours ago, it feels like it happened ages ago.

It feels strange...

When he turns the corner to make his way into the park, he hears a familiar voice cursing.

He could never mistake it.

Gold looks up.

"Good evening, Oikawa."

The setter is rather far away from him, those big hazel eyes are staring at him, piercing through him, tearing off his skin and muscles and bones apart.

"How did the game go?"

Wakatoshi blinks. “We _lost_."

Tooru's lips are curving up ever so slightly, but Wakatoshi doesn't see happiness in that expression. Perhaps a little bit of satisfaction, but it is not happiness.

“I know.”

Wakatoshi raises an eyebrow. "Then why did you ask?"

Tooru lets out a quiet chuckle, his eyes look away and lose themselves in an indefinite spot behind the wing spiker. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

The grey sky above them is brightened by a roaring thunder. It starts to rain. Wakatoshi feels every single droplet fall on his head and shoulders. They are heavy, rich...

But Tooru doesn't move.

So Wakatoshi doesn't move either.

There is a long moment of silence, until hazel eyes meet gold again.

"Next time, it'll be _me_...”

A shaky breath.

“Next time, _I_ 'll be the one to beat you."

Wakatoshi says nothing in return, instead takes a step forward. And then another one. And another... Until there are only mere inches between them. Tooru's eyes are cold, distant. " _I_ should have been the one to beat you," he whispers.

The rain is now pouring and they are both soaked to the bone, but they keep looking at each other.

"You should have come to Shiratorizawa," Wakatoshi says at some point. "You should have been my setter."

In response, he receives a laugh. A derisive laugh, and still so light. "You never learn, huh?" Tooru says in disbelief. "Even after you got your ass kicked, you still act as if you were the strongest."

“It is not what I meant."

"Yes, it is."

Wakatoshi's hand catches his wrist. "I am saying that, had you been with me, we would not be having this conversation, nor would we stand here defeated. We could have won."

Tooru shakes his head. "You can't know that." He doesn't wait for anything else and walks past Wakatoshi.

"I won't regret my choices, _Ushijima_."

They don't look at each other, don't say their goodbyes (because they are going to see each other again), though Wakatoshi doesn't stop thinking about it, not even when he is finally back home.

Had they been _together_ , on the same team, they would have won.

_He knows._

 


	2. Tendou/Shirabu - Remembering (M)

There's always been this weird interaction between them.

Kenjirō doesn't know how it all started.

He came to Shiratorizawa because he's always wanted to toss to someone like Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Satori just kind of barged in between.

Kenjirō remembers hating it, hating _him_ at first. The way he feels about their invincible Captain, the way he is trying so desperately to get noticed, his struggles - Satori has managed to _read_ through it all in just a few weeks spent in the same gym (Kenjirō is glad they are in different years, otherwise he would have already lost his mind).

He remembers hating him, and yet, when he is like this, body pressed into the mattress of the middle blocker's bed and face buried in the white pillow as Satori ruthlessly pounds into him from behind, he just doesn't understand where it could be gone.

Satori isn't gentle. He likes to kiss him hungrily, graze his lips with his teeth until they are red and swollen; he likes to push him on his bed and make him come undone. And even though it hurts like hell at times, Kenjirō still loses his head and moans loud when Satori spills himself inside of him before leaning over his back and biting hard into the skin under his nape, easy to cover with clothes.

They don't cuddle - there are nights when Kenjirō wants to, but he never asks; not when the blocker lies down next to him, his back facing him. It is in moments like this that his mind wanders to Wakatoshi.

He remembers his first months in Shiratorizawa, the awe and his beating heart, so violent and erratic it felt like it would have crushed his ribcage into countless pieces.

When he first tossed to him, he thought he felt a connection.

_He was wrong._

_._

 "Don't illude yourself; he only has eyes for _one_ setter."

Kenjirō raises an eyebrow when Satori closes the door of the locker room and leans on it. "Who is it?"

Satori smirks.

"A _monster_ , just like him."

.

When Kenjirō meets _Oikawa Tooru_ on court, he understands. He understands what is it that Wakatoshi wants, the same kind of monster he is too; Kenjirō can't help but feel burning envy spreading through his body, giving birth to a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oikawa Tooru is everything he's always wanted to be.

Even though Shiratorizawa wins, Kenjirō feels like the worst of the losers. There is only one victory he desires, but he will never be able to reach it.


	3. Ushijima/Oikawa - Emperor's Hands - Simplicity (T)

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a simple man.

Oikawa Tooru is _not_.

The way the wing spiker plays volleyball says a lot of things about him - his game is simple, his spikes incredibly powerful and almost impossible to block or receive even if so perfectly clear and understandable. And while the interaction between these two opposite people happens mainly on court, Wakatoshi is like this always, in every possible field. He speaks that way, kisses that way, has sex that way.

Even if it hurts at times, be it the bitter feeling his words leave, the bruises on his lips after countless assaults, or the ache his actions leave after sleeping together, Tooru likes him nonetheless.

He knows he can expect everything from him in return. Wakatoshi once told clearly that he wouldn't hesitate to give him everything he's ever wanted. The matter was clearly about volleyball, but Tooru can read him perfectly and understands there is so much more than victory behind that everything.

So when they melt into each other at night, Tooru's breath kicked out of his lungs, Wakatoshi's muscles so tense and hot... Tooru knows he could never disappoint or surprise him.

The thing, action, that surprised him though, happened so many nights ago, when their (Tooru's) grudges gave out and they slept together for the first time. Wakatoshi's gentleness once they came down from their high was definitely something alien to the setter. The way Wakatoshi pulled him into a warm embrace, made him rest his head on his shoulder and took his hand into his. He touched it, every fingertip, every knuckle, inch of his palm.

Then it wasn't his hands anymore, but his lips. Until Tooru fell asleep and even afterwards.

It happened a lot. And it keeps happening, every Friday or Saturday evening when they meet.

"What is it that you have for my hands?' Tooru asks one day when Wakatoshi worships every single part of them as if it was the first time. The man pulls away for just a second, long enough to give him an answer.

"I like your hands."

The answer is as simple as that; no word more, no word less. He returns to his ministrations, more dedicated than before.

"Is that so?" Tooru asks sleepily - being trapped between his mattress and the other's body is so nice. "What if it bothered me?"

Wakatoshi pauses, but doesn't pull away this time; gold moves to look up at him. "Does it?" he mumbles against skin.

Tooru smiles gently, closes his eyes and drifts towards a dreamless sleep. "No."

_Not at all._


	4. Iwaizumi/Oikawa + Ushijima - Permanent (T)

It takes a few drops of his own sweat to make all of his dreams and aspirations for the future disappear. And it's all because of that powerful jump serve that saved him from losing games, to which he was faithful until the end.

His body couldn't understand, couldn't keep up, and often Tooru found himself wondering why he hasn't practiced more to keep it in proper shape.

So when landing from the last jump he's ever made, he slips.

It is all just a blur, and then he's sprawled on his back, pain spreading from his knee, to his calf, to his ankle, to his foot. Three seconds later, it's traveling up, to his thigh, until it reaches his hip.

Tooru screams.

It's foolish to think he can hold back in anyway – he can't.

“Oikawa!”

There are screams all around him, people rushing over. The game frozen. Tooru hears his teammates' voices, feels Hajime's hands trying to make him sit up, Wakatoshi's hands helping them make that happen.

But all he sees is a blur of white, light blue and magenta. Until it turns black.

***

When he wakes up, he is in a hospital room, plain white walls surrounding him. His body feels weird – he is numb, and can't move no matter how hard he tries (maybe he isn't trying at all; he isn't sure).

He hears his mother right outside the door, crying, listening to someone's voice mentioning a knee dislocation and surgeries and _he doesn't understand_.

Until his eyes move to his right leg.

He wants to scream again. But he just can't.

***

They explain things to him when he is finally able to focus, when the pain doesn't require high doses of morphin.

Hajime is sitting next to his bed, holding his hand as if his life depended on it, eyes low, not looking at him. _Never_ looking at him (Tooru doesn't remember when their gazes last met). The setter stares at the doctor in front of him (he doesn't really see him).

He won't be able to play volleyball for _a long time_.

If the surgery doesn't go exactly as planned and if he doesn't take care of himself properly, he won't be able to play it ever again. When the man leaves the room, Tooru's mother leaves the two alone.

Hajime is trembling, his free hand covering his eyes as he desperately tries to repress his sobs.

“It's okay, Iwa-chan. Please don't cry,” Tooru says, but means no letter of that 'okay'. Hajime tells him he's crying too and that he looks horrible, and for the first time in a long time, Tooru doesn't call him mean or rude, and instead agrees with him.

***

Wakatoshi brings him flowers, along with a “get well soon” note. He bows in front of him.

Tooru doesn't miss the sorrow in his eyes. He's never seen him like this (even though he's wanted to... so, _so_ much). He wishes the situation was different. So he doesn't yell at him, instead accepts the gift, lets him sit next to Hajime and watches him lean on the bed, face buried in his strong arms.

Not once has he been so broken down.

Not even when Sakusa crushed him and his team at Nationals because he couldn't focus.

(Tooru knows he couldn't focus because of him. Oh well, at least he'll get another chance. Plenty of them.)

He feels hot tears on his cheeks again (he didn't get to beat him in the end), but this time Hajime is kissing them away.

***

Tooru does return to the gymnasium. Three years later.

He doesn't play, only watches.

 


	5. FHQ - Oikawa/Kageyama - Warmth (T)

When Kageyama Tobio meets Oikawa Tooru, he is a boy of six.

On that day, his parents are killed; his friends are killed; his grandparents too, along with all the other villagers. The houses are burnt, crushed, collapsing one by one until there is nothing more than a field of burnt rubbish, mixed with blood and bones and _death_.

Tobio struggles to stay on his feet – eventually he collapses as well, on the cold and humid ground, allows the mud to stain his fair skin.

But his bright blue eyes never leave the figure approaching him. A tall man, young and strong, with dark clothes and a cold expression on his face. Tobio sees large horns raising from his head, coming out from between dark brown, wavy locks, and he doesn't fail to recognize him.

_The king._

“Oh? I didn't expect to see someone making it out alive,” he says, stopping only when he is a few steps away from Tobio. The boy doesn't understand a thing, doesn't understand that the very being in front of him is the cause of everything that's happened around him during the last couple of hours.

He instinctively covers himself with his arms and shuts his eyes tightly when the king comes even closer, lowers on his long legs until they are on the same level.

When he finally dares to look again, he finds red eyes piercing through him, making his bright blue water. He doesn't cry, _no_. Something tells him not to and he listens.

“Are you afraid?”

Tobio blinks. “No.”

There is a dangerous smirk on the man's face, that bright red glows and Tobio can't help but stare. “Even though everything's destroyed?”

Tobio takes a moment to digest the question, and he can't help but give a long glance at both his sides. “Did you do it?”

A chuckle. “Yes.”

Tobio feels the deep tone of voice dig through his skin and flesh, stabbing right into his spine, making him feel numb and dizzy. Confused. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

Tobio isn't sure if he should reply, or how he should reply, so he stays silent, his small, bony hands clutching the hem of his torn shirt. That cold gaze is on him even when he looks away – he knows that. His breath hitches in his throat when a large, pale hand brushes his cheek, wiping away a tear he hasn't even felt falling, and then retreats, so the king can observe it.

“So?”

Tobio looks at him questioningly. “What?”

“Are you afraid?”

The expression is different now. Not so cold anymore, much softer. Much more distant than it was before, lips curved up ever so slightly, red eyes lost in the wetness on the tip of a finger.

Tobio shifts on his knees, stands up weakly and reduces their distance to zero. His hands travel on Tooru's face, and the wide-eyed look he receives makes him see something he can't quite figure out.

“What are you doing?”

“You are warm,” Tobio says.

The king stands up abruptly, making Tobio land on his back with a yelp. He turns around and proceeds to walk away without a word, and the boy watches that broad back, covered with a heavy cloak, brown hair moved by the raising wind.

“No.”

The king halts.

“I'm not afraid.”

The answer makes Tobio's body feels weak, deprives him of every last drop of strength, and this time he abandons himself to the dirt underneath him. His eyelids feel heavy and soon it all starts to become a blur.

Before the last bit of his consciousness fades away, he feels himself being raised up, and the same warmth from before swallows him whole.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small collection of drabbles I'll write whenever I have some time to type something on my phone, so don't expect frequent updates.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!


End file.
